


Sterek Week 2015

by creativesuperhero



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sterek Week 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:32:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativesuperhero/pseuds/creativesuperhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of one-shots over the course of Sterek Week 2015. Each chapter is a separate story by itself and non-related to the previous ones. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here, It's Different

**Author's Note:**

> For Day # 1 Sterek Funday! 
> 
> Just a nebulous future fic where Stiles and Derek are out of Beacon Hills and enjoying their life together :)
> 
> Hope you like!

“Stiles, get inside!” Derek shouted over the increasing thunder of pouring rain. 

Stiles ignored him, instead leaping over the fence with a surprising amount of grace and jogging into the middle of the road. Derek sighed, exasperated, and wondered how Stiles had survived this long. Rain was coming down in territorial sheets, everything washed grey and blue, and even with his wolf eyes, it was hard to see through the heavy rain. Stiles was a tall, lean shape among the cold autumn rain. No doubt he was already soaked to the skin and Derek would no doubt have to clean up the mess Stiles made when Derek got him back inside the warm haven of their apartment. 

Sighing once more, Derek stepped out into the rain, and almost allowed himself to relish in the sense memory of it. He used to love the rain, back when he was a kid but it had rained so much in Beacon Hills that the joy Derek had gotten out of it was tainted. Like most things from Beacon Hills. 

Stiles, however, seemed to be savouring it, arms and mouth spread wide like he wanted to consume as much rain as possible. He always a bit of a weirdo. Now also soaked, Derek stepped up behind Stiles and caught him in his arms. Stiles stumbled with a squawked “Derek!” 

“Enough frolicking, you’re going to catch a cold at this rate,” Derek admonished, not yet resorting to dragging Stiles back into the house. 

Stiles laughed and said with the appropriate amount of Stiles dramatics. “I don’t care. And I wasn’t _frolicking _\- I was just… enjoying the rain. I haven’t enjoyed the rain in years.”__

__“What do you mean?” Derek frowned, water sliding down his nose and dripping onto his lips. The hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck was curling and wet, and Derek resisted the urge to suck a mark there._ _

__“Well, rain in Beacon Hills always meant doom and death, and now…”_ _

__“We’re not in Beacon Hills anymore.”_ _

__“No, we’re not,” Stiles said and Derek could hear the smile in his voice._ _

__Wanting to see that smile, Derek quickly spun Stiles around in his arms. Stiles’ face was pale and sharp in the rain but his eyes were bright and warm and surprisingly soft. Derek and Stiles weren’t soft people, as a general rule of what they’d both been through and what it’d done to them. As much as they were better now, Beacon Hills would always be a broken piece of both of them that they could never quite leave behind._ _

__But here, now? Here and now they weren’t in Beacon Hills and they didn’t have to think about in Beacon Hills. Right now, they could just be and enjoy the rain and each other and be - in love, Derek guessed. After everything, they deserved that, didn’t they? This slice of peace, where exhaustion and paranoia and tragedy couldn’t touch?_ _

__“It’s different here,” Stile started. “The rain, I mean. In Beacon Hills, it was always heavy and cold and weighed everything down even after it was finished. Here, though, it’s almost…”_ _

__“Warm,” Derek finished for him. The rain wasn’t warm, actually, it was fucking freezing. It was _October _. Yet, compared to what Beacon Hills had been…___ _

____“Stop finishing my sentences!” Stiles feigned indignation and slapped a wet hand against Derek’s wet shoulder and there was an awkward squelch when they made contact._ _ _ _

____“But you like it when I finish your sentences,” Derek teased, tightening his arms around Stiles’ waist, their bodies leaning into each other._ _ _ _

____“Do I?” Stiles muttered but there was pleased tilt to his lips that made something hot and wonderful curl up in Derek’s chest. “Anyway, it’s just different here. I didn’t realise how much Beacon Hills affected me until… well, until I left. I can actually enjoy life here. Have fun, and do stupid things in the rain, and - be with you… kiss…” Stiles’ voice faded into a soft murmur against Derek’s lips, who hadn’t quite realised how close their faces had gotten._ _ _ _

____Stiles always seemed to do that - sneak up on him with his affection. As much as it might have terrified Derek in the past, now he was just comfortable in the knowledge that how much he trusted Stiles._ _ _ _

____They weren’t quite kissing yet but their faces were close together, their warm breaths mingling together amidst the cold rain. Stiles’ lips were red and plush and wet and Derek wanted to taste them. So he did._ _ _ _

____Stiles sank gratefully into the kiss, his body arching and his arms coming up around Derek’s shoulders. Teeth nipped at Derek’s lips, a tongue curled against the Derek’s own, hot and good and tasting like autumn, rain and peppermint gum and the remnants of pumpkin spice._ _ _ _

____Yeah, the rain here was better than Beacon Hills. Here, the rain just meant autumn and a smiling Stiles. Here was getting to kiss Stiles in the rain because they could, because they were allowed and because they _wanted _to.___ _ _ _

______They could go inside in a minute._ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Across a Crowded Ballroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Day #2 Sterek Alternate Era! 
> 
> Regency setting, kind of cliche but I was proud of it, at least ;).

Balls had always been a something of a joy for Stiles. 

Though crowds could sometimes overwhelm him and he didn’t care about more than handful of people attending, he enjoyed the fact it was so easy to lose oneself among a crowded ballroom. The giant chandeliers than hung from the high ceilings, strung with crystals and making every attendee glow like faeries in the moonlight. The charming dresses that the ladies wore, the tasteful coat and tails of the gentlemen, the dignified swirling and twirling of bodies. 

For a man of logic, Stiles surely enjoyed the sensory experience of a ball. He was a son of law enforcement - he had his father’s image to protect, after all. As much as Stiles was able to withhold such a thing anymore, with all the controversies and so-called ‘scandals’ he got caught up in. He wasn’t like his best friend Scott - polite, image-upholding behaviour just didn’t come easy to him, especially in the face of arrogant so-and-so’s like Jackson Whittemore. 

Coming off a enjoyable dance with his childhood friend Heather - something his father would no doubt speak to him about once he heard about of it, as the rumour mill surrounding that would no doubt start churning again. No matter, the dance had been fun and Heather had been as pleasant as always. 

He had a decided to take a small break and try to find a drink, when Stiles saw him. 

__Him was a tall, broad man bedecked in a truly well-tailored suit, his cravat a crisp white that set off the man’s dark hint of refined stubble that matched his dark head of hair. From the side, the man’s profile was sharp and gorgeous, with defined cheekbones and a straight nose. A top hat was held in hands, which were crossed at the wrist behind his back. He seemed to be oddly alone among the crowd; a stranded angel._ _

___Stop being so bloody poetic _, Stiles chastised himself. _You don’t even know him. He could be another Jackson Whittemore, for all you know. _Like a man like that would ever give Stiles his attention and his time. Though, strangely, there was something naggingly familiar about the man. Despite this feeling, Stiles was sure he had never seen the man before in his life. He’d remember a man like that, of that he had no doubt.____ _ _

______As if the man could feel Stiles’ curious, sharp stare, he turned his head towards Stiles’ direction and Stiles found his breath stolen as intense eyes bore into his. From this far way, he couldn’t make out the colour but he was sure they were pale and bright and kaleidoscopic. Even so, now that Stiles could see his full face and feel his burning stare, he knew who the man was._ _ _ _ _ _

_______Derek Hale. ____ _ _ _ _ _

________Derek Hale was an intriguing mystery to the town of Beacon Hills - though a member of the well-known and well-respected Hale Family, he was presumed to be something of a recluse. Rumours ran amok about the town about a scandal when Derek was younger than Stiles was now, about Gerard Argent’s daughter and secret plots… But those were rumours, weren’t they? Stiles preferred factual evidence to gossip but still, his brain had a tendency to connect dots where they shouldn’t._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Still, Derek Hale remained holed up in family manor’s library, rarely appearing at soirees and dinners and balls such as this one. It was like finding a rare jewel among the rough and Stiles wanted to examine, figure out the secrets and the value._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Under that stripping, warming gaze, Stiles took a step towards Derek Hale._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________- &-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Balls had always been something of a terrible pain for Derek._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He had never enjoyed them, no matter his considerable social standing among the people of Beacon Hills. The gaudy and sparkling chandeliers made his eyes tired and everyone locked up and stiff in their dearest clothes made him feel like a sheep in a herd. These parties overloaded his senses, made him feel trapped and alone among the jovial crowds. He had only come to this one because his sister had pleaded and his sister was not of the pleading time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________So he had sighed and said, “Just this once.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He supposed her beaming smile had been worth it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Not to mention the dancing, which was just - no. Derek was not a dancer. Derek preferred his quiet and his books and his peace of mind._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________(He had met _her _at a ball, though that ball had been even bigger and brighter than this one.)___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Derek knew very well what the people of Beacon Hills thought of him, all the rumours and gossip and whispers about his reclusive ways. That was fine - Derek would let them think what they thought and leave it that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Surprisingly, he had managed to at least withhold one stimulating conversations throughout the evening. One, with the young and debonair Miss Lydia Martin, who was definitely more than she appeared to be at first glance, and her escort, a handsome Mister Jordan Parrish, who had been a soldier and was now working in law enforcement for Sheriff Jonathan Stilinski. However, the couple had wanted to dance and Derek was happy to be gracious enough to let his acquaintances go._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Of course, it was just a few minutes after they had left that Derek felt the prickle of a curious gaze on him. He almost sighed but decided it was best to just glare at the ogler and be done with it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Of course, that was when he turned around and saw _him _.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Him was a tall, lean man who cut a sharp figure in his suit among the rabble around him. His brown hair seems barely tamed in its respectful haircut and his face was pale, smooth bar the charming array of moles dotted across his face. His nose was pleasantly upturned above a plush red mouth. Derek felt almost shameful for noticing so many attractive things about this man upon first glance. _Almost.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________From so far way, Derek couldn’t make the colour of the man’s eyes but he had the impression they were at once both dark and bright, warm and sharp._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He recognised him at once, of course. Derek may be something of a recluse (he’d be the first to admit it) but his sisters kept him up to date on the latest and most scandalous stories of Beacon Hills._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Stiles Stilinski. ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________A strange name, perhaps, but the young man was something of a strange thing himself. Son of the respected Sheriff but had his forays into possible-scandals and misconduct. Yet Stiles was still respected; for his clever mind, Laura had told him, and his wit and decorum, despite his contempt for certain aspects (and people) of the aristocracy. Derek had always been a little curious about the Sheriff’s son, labeling him to be something of a contradiction, something of an enigma, even if his surface personality appeared rather obvious._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Rather gorgeous, in fact, _Derek mused idly, before berating himself for continuing to think like that. About the Sheriff’s son, no less! Besides, what a young man like Stiles, a man brimming with potential, want with someone as burnt out, damaged, and awkward as Derek? He couldn’t even _dance _.____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Yet, as Stiles Stilinski held his gaze and stepped towards him, Derek remained where he was and waited to see what would happen next._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Autumnal Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! DAY #3 OF STEREKWEEK2015, STEREKHUNTERMOON!
> 
> I know autumn is British but I had to use Fall for rest of it and autumnal is one of my fave words, so, that's that. 
> 
> Little to nothing plot but possible Derek feelings ahead, I would say. Hope you enjoy!

Derek had always loved fall. Since he was kid still crawling over his mother’s lap, he had loved when the green trees had started to blush orange and yellow and red. The cold, crisp air that raised goose flesh on his arms and stripped away the stickiness of summer. The smell of pie crust and pumpkin insides and his father’s scalding black coffee in the morning. Halloween had been an _event_ in his house, from carving pumpkins to putting up decoration to picking out the perfect costume. 

(“No, you can’t go as a werewolf, Laura,” his mother’s voice said in his memory, fond with exasperation. “The point of dressing up on Halloween is to go as something other than yourself. I’m fairly sure I’ve told you this every Halloween previous to this one.”) 

Memories of fall were some of the few in his mind that he refused to touch with the sickly, heavy feeling of guilt, or grief, or regret. They remained pristine in his mind - moments to look back on, a haven to visit, when the weight on his shoulders threatened to break his bones. 

The full moon in October - _the Hunter’s Moon_ , they had called it, before the hunter’s had become something that didn’t maintain the balance between the natural and the supernatural but a menacing presence that, in the end, only ruined people’s lives - had always been a joyous time for Derek and his family. The run in the Preserve, his mother a majestic presence among the trees in her wolf form, Peter whispering obscure (and sometimes rather morbid) fairy tales to little Cora, his father’s steady voice keeping the pack anchored. 

Now, though - all of that was gone. Derek had forgotten what it felt like to love fall after the fire, moving through life as numb as winter cold fingers. 

That was until Stiles became a permanent fixture in his life, as his respected ally, his trusted friend, his partner and his lover. 

Stiles awoke the dusty, forgotten things in Derek, with his cocky smile and romantic eyes and large hands and… Derek could go on. 

With Stiles, Derek could create new memories of fall, just as memorable but a little more messy, despite being nothing less than perfect. 

Stiles’ cold skin- his chronic chill only got worse in fall and winter but Derek never minded having to keep him warm, no matter how much he grumbled and muttered about it. The pants of their hot breaths in the chilly air after full moon sex. Stiles’ long fingers - buried in the fur of his wolf form, picking out pumpkin insides, wrapped around his coffee mug that said _Always Be Yourself Unless You Can Be Batman Then Always Be Batman._

 

Stiles was one of those people that searched out leaves to crunch, who _jumped_ into leaf piles, tried out weird combinations of fall-inspired sauces in his coffee no matter how disgusting they ended up being, bought the oddly shaped pumpkins at the store, and on and on it went. 

All any of that did was make Derek fall in love with Stiles all over again; there was an endless list of how many times Derek could fall in love in with Stiles and they happened for boundless amounts reasons, some ridiculously silly and some heartrendingly serious. 

Fall was always a prime time for those moments. 

Derek first said “ I love you” - out loud and to Stiles’ face - the first fall they spent together as a couple, their breath coalesced mist in front of their faces and Stiles’ pale skin red-tinged with cold, cheeks, nose, lips. 

Fall would always be the season where nothing could touch them.


	4. Blue Is Just Permanent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Day #4 of SterekWeek2015, SterekCrayons! 
> 
> Canon compliant Soulmate AU - seeing colours when you meet your soulmate but with a bit of a twist! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time Stiles met Derek, it wasn’t that encounter in the Preserve looking for Scott’s inhaler. In fact, it had been in the Sheriff’s station, the night of the Hale fire. Stiles remembered Laura had been in his Dad’s office - but he had never met Laura. Derek had been slumped on the worn wood. Derek had looked like someone had sapped all the life from him, bit by agonizing bit. And all that was left was a sad, statue-like teenage boy, trapped in his grief. 

Stiles had been nine? Ten? His mother had still been alive. That was usually how he measured time. Mom Alive and Mom Dead. Before and After. His dad did the same.

Stiles had offered Derek some of his candy, despite the fact that he wasn’t a kid who was particularly fond of sharing. But Derek had looked so lonely. Stiles knew what is was like to be lonely. So, he gave Derek some his candy (he doesn’t think Derek remembers) and when Derek’s unblinking, wet eyes had stared into Stiles’, they were a shocking colour. Stiles had let out an embarrassing squeak. Something in him had knew the colour to be green. Or yellow? Brown? His brain had never seemed to been able to decide, not until much later in his life, and decided on something like a tropical rain forest.

However, after Derek had left, the world went back to its greys and whites and blacks. 

~

 

That moment in the Preserve happened to be the second time Stiles started to see colour.  
Derek tromping through the bramble of the forest floor, that split-second their eyes met before Stiles ducked his head, caught of guard and bashful because of it. 

Sunlight seeped into the peripheral of his vision - not just white light but… yellow. Definitely yellow, that something in him knew. 

He looked up, mouth hanging open, as watched Derek black-clad back turn and walk away. After just fifteen minutes, sunlight was just white again, not that beautiful dandelion colour it had been before. 

If there was any doubt in Stiles’ mind before, there wasn’t now. Derek was his Soulmate. 

~

 

It happened again not soon after, with Stiles in the front seat of a cop car and Derek handcuffed in the back. Derek leaned in, eyes intense but not that green-yellow-brown. But his lips were pink. Blush. 

Stiles swallowed. 

~

The day Derek was shot by Kate - Stiles started to see more than one colour that day. Sunlight shone yellow again, trees blushed green, Derek’s eyes flashed blue, his wound festered black and purple, and in his reflection, he saw the bright brown of his own eyes. 

~

Colours started to fluctuate in and out of Stiles’ life after that. Flickers here and there, some colours stayed in his vision for days, but none of them were permanent. 

 

The night Derek and Stiles were trapped in the pool by the Kanima, Stiles’ world become flooded by blue. Literally. Bright blue; the blue of the water, the weird blue shines of light that danced across the skylights above them as Stiles held Derek up in the water for two hours. Aquamarine, that something in him said, that something that was still singing from having Derek so close to him. 

That something wanted to talk to Derek, ask him if the same thing was happening to him, was he seeing colours too? He might not be. Derek could be Stiles’ Soulmate but Stiles might not be Derek’s. That was fine - Stiles could handle that. He was good at being lonely, had since he was kid and his mother got so sick she thought her son was trying to kill her. 

After that night, and the words they exchanged, and the look they shared - blue became a permanent fixture in Stiles’ life. 

His jeep was blue; maximum blue. His bedroom walls were blue; pacific blue. Derek’s wolf eyes were blue, blizzard blue, underneath whatever colour they were now because he was an alpha. Stiles suspected red, whatever that looked like; out of all the colours Stiles had seen so far, red hasn’t been one of them. 

Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to. (He knew blood was red.) He was content with blue, even if it was the only colour that was permanent in his life. That was fine - blue was pretty and that something in him said that blue was the colour for him.


	5. The Things That Can Be Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Day #5 of SterekWeek2015, SterekSceneStealer!
> 
> Pretty proud of this one, tbh. It's the longest I've written, I'm pretty sure. This one is based around the Harry and Luna scene in the Order of the Phoenix. It's one of my favourite scenes in the whole film series and I thought it'd lend well to a Sterek version. 
> 
> It's set in a Hogwarts AU, where the Hale Family is alive but Laura was still murdered (though not by Peter :/) and Derek was the only witness. Stiles is 16 and in Fifth Year, whereas Derek is 18 and in Seventh Year. He is still a werewolf but bitten and the rest of his family isn’t. A Remus Lupin sort of situation, I guess. 
> 
> Hope you like!

Derek hunched deeper into his thick coat, after watching his owl, Artemis, take off with the letter to his family. The air was cold and crisp, wet autumn air shifting towards the dry chill of winter. He trudged across the grounds, his heavy footsteps squashing the damp grass beneath him. Finstock’s cabin was a dark shape that he bypassed, unlit and lonely in the expanse of the castle’s grounds. The forest grew closer, the hardy trees great and green against the grey sky, invitingly quiet and dark and peaceful.

These days, all it seemed he wanted was to be alone. But when he was alone, everything came back to him and he wanted company to make himself forget. But then no one seemed to understand, so Derek wanted to be alone again. And so the cycle continued. It made Derek exhausted but proper sleep had been difficult since Laura’s death. 

He ambled around the edge of the forest for a while, relishing in the lack of looks and questions that he had become accustomed to since the start of the school year. Here in the forest, nature didn’t give a shit about his pain. And something about that, the fact that the world kept going no matter what, settled something in Derek and helped release the constant tenseness in his shoulders. 

Just as he was trying to convince himself to head back to the castle, he heard a strange, melancholy sound, something like whale song but different, more chilling than calming. Derek looked up to the sky, where the sound had come from, and saw the silhouette of a large winged creature swooping down and disappearing into a part of the forest nearby. 

Curious (and looking for excuses), Derek headed into the direction of where the creature had landed and before long, he came across a large clearing, huge fallen trees and a small forest lake to the left of him. Deeper into the clearing, a good half a dozen of those ethereal creatures were dotted about, grazing the forest floor. They were thin and skeletal, their dark flesh almost ghostly, and their wings were massive, webbed and when one of the creatures opened their wings, the white light that filtered through the trees shone through them. Derek remembered being shaken by the sight of them pulling the carriages at the start of the year. 

Derek inched closer but was caught off guard when he spotted another student in the clearing, though they were in casual clothes, an old-looking t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Oddly, the guy wasn’t wearing any shoes. It made an odd combination with Derek’s school clothes underneath his coat, though his black and gold Hufflepuff tie was stuffed in his pocket. Something about the guy was familiar to Derek, so he walked further into the clearing, wary of getting too close to the creatures. 

Animals sometimes had a harsh reaction to him - they sensed that primal part of him that tore itself out of him in the form of a wolf every full moon. But these creatures seemed unconcerned by Derek’s presence, and up close and in daylight, they seemed more benevolent than ominous. 

Coming up behind the other student, who was stroking the reptilian face of one of the creatures, made Derek aware that the student was lean but with broad shoulders that Derek couldn’t help but appreciate. 

“Uh, your feet. Aren’t they cold?” Derek couldn’t help but ask.

The guy turned his head over his shoulder and Derek was a little shocked he didn’t recognise him the moment he saw him. Stiles Stilinski, Fifth year Slytherin, muggleborn. He was a little infamous around the school, for openly owning everything about himself that didn’t fit into the traditional view of Slytherin. His Gryffindor best friend was only the start of it, Derek knew. Stiles’ - admittedly pretty - face wasn’t set in its usual sharp amusement but was instead open and - Derek hesitated to call it vulnerable but maybe that was what it was. Derek couldn’t find another name for it. 

“A little, don’t really notice,” Stiles finally said, shrugging. His voice deeper than Derek expected it. “People sometimes steal my stuff, cause they think they’re funny but really they’re just assholes, so, nothing I can do about that.” 

“That’s awful,” Derek murmured with a frown but let it go, mesmerized by the face of the creature in front of him. He hadn’t quite realised how tall they were - larger than any horse Derek had ever seen, that was for sure. 

“What are they?” He finally asked, watching the crea - _thestral_ trot elegantly away from them, making that same whale song noise from earlier, its echo reverberating through the clearing.

“Thestrals,” Stiles promptly answered, fishing around for something in the ragged satchel hanging from his bony shoulder. “They’re pretty cool. Have a bit of a shit reputation, honestly. People avoid them, mostly, they’re kind of -” Stiles trailed off, eyes lifting to Derek’s, and Derek picked up the word hanging in the air for him. 

“Different?” He said with a raise of his eyebrow. He knew Stiles knew what he was - everybody in the school did, after the - after the incident. Werewolf wasn’t quite as damaging as it had been but the lingering suspicion, the skittering fear that Derek could fucking _smell_? It got old quick and was why Derek had kept it on the down low; only his closest friends had known, Boyd and Erica and Kira. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said with a grim, sympathetic smile. For some reason, it didn’t feel condescending. Derek knew Stiles wasn’t a werewolf but he supposed Stiles was a bit of an odd duck himself and he hadn’t not noticed that people avoided Stiles, talked about him behind back like he wouldn’t eventually hear what they said. Derek could relate. 

A baby thestral started to stumble towards them, surprisingly cute, and Stiles started to walk towards it, his smile transforming into something stranger and more fond. Derek followed him, leaves rustling about his shoes, watching Stiles’ face out of the corner of his eye. 

“Why can’t anybody else them, though? They’re not exactly what you call subtle,” Derek said, noticing that Stiles had reached into his satchel again. He pulled out a shiny red apple, turning it over in his hand with long fingers, waiting for the baby thestral to come to him. 

“Well, they can only be seen by people who’ve seen death,” Stiles said, the blunt statement oddly quiet in the clearing. “That shit reputation? People tend to think they’re fearsome or whatever, a bad omen.” Stiles said _‘bad omen’_ with a certain sharp mockery that made Derek glad it wasn’t directed at him. “They’re sort of gentle, really. Nothing to be afraid of.” 

But the information floored something in Derek. So he could only see these strange, wonderful creatures because he’d seen his sister get murdered? Derek expected to feel - something. That familiar wave of anger at the world, the crushing weight of grief - but there was only silent type of contentment that left Derek almost winded. 

“So you’ve - you knew someone who died, then?” The moment it was out of his mouth, it felt brutally insensitive, despite his curiosity. He doesn’t like people asking him questions and now he’s doing it to someone else? _Way to be hypocrite_ , Derek scolded himself, feeling his cheeks heat with something different from the cold. 

Stiles, however, let the Derek’s awkward insensitivity slide, and it felt generous. Derek took it for what it was and when Stiles glanced at him, copper brown eyes sad, he sent him a silent apology and let Stiles take his time. 

“My mom,” Stiles abruptly said after a long moment of pregnant quiet, only disturbed by the high-pitched noises of the thestrals and the rustle of the tall pines towering over them. “She had - uh, frontotemporal dementia. It’s a disease that affects your brain, makes it slowly deteriorate. She wasn’t herself for good while before she died but - she was amazing.” There was a lot of things behind Stiles’ words, things that felt like more than grief. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek offered and hoped it didn’t come across as pitying as the ones he’d been subjected to. 

Stiles tossed his apple into the misty air, caught it again as it landed with a smack in his palm. Derek’s gaze followed the movement of Stiles biting his plush lip before Stiles spoke again. 

“It’s okay - I’ve got my dad and he’s great. But it’s just hard sometimes, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Derek sighed. “I know.” 

He watched as Stiles tossed the red apple across the forest floor, as it came to a tumbling stop at the baby thestral’s hooves. The little thing nosed at the apple for a bit, sniffing, before it looked up again with its milky eyes, chirping in demand. 

“Was worth a shot,” Stiles muttered before he reached into his satchel again and tossed a chunk of raw red meat at the baby thestral. It slid across the forest floor, tossing up leaves in its wake, to gobble up its treat.

Derek and Stiles stood together for a while, watching as the baby thestral trotted on spindly legs back to its mother. Derek wondered whether he could stay in this moment forever, sharing sweet silence with this strange, sharp, sad Slytherin boy.

“I believe you, you know,” Stiles offered up out nowhere, his voice glib and light but the weight of his gaze intense. “That you didn’t kill your sister, just because, you know, _werewolf._ ” 

Stiles didn’t say ‘werewolf' like most people did; he said like it was just a part of who Derek was, like the fact he was top of the class in Transfiguration, or that his last name was Hale, or that he was pansexual. Stiles said it like ‘werewolf’ didn’t define Derek’s whole life. For more than a few moments, Derek had to resist the urge to kiss him stupid. 

“Seems like you’re one of the only ones that does,” Derek couldn’t help but say and the bitterness felt dry and sour at the back of his throat. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure that’s true,” Stiles denied, squinting his eyes. “People want you to feel isolated, because that makes it easier to blame you and be done with it. But don’t forget you’re not alone. I know that’s one of the corniest lines in fucking history but it’s true. Nothing good happens when you forget that you have people.” 

“I guess,” Derek said, letting the words sink into him and make a home in his chest. “I’ll try.”

“All you can really do, man,” Stiles assured with a shrug, hiking his satchel higher up his shoulder, the collar of his t-shirt bunching and revealing a stretch of pale skin. “Now let’s get back to the castle. My feet are fucking _freezing_ , dude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Laura was murdered by an as of yet unknown assailant and Derek was a suspect due to his status as a werewolf and people are nasty and so on. A little call back to Season One, I guess :)


	6. Who Needs Boo, When I've Got You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Day #7 of Sterek Week 2015, SterekHalloween!
> 
> I didn't due a fic for Day 6 SterekSongs but I did do a six-song fanmix, which you can check out on tumblr @maverickstiles. So this is the last one! Just a sweet little thing to end the week. I hope you've all enjoyed my little fics and I'm grateful for all your hits, kudos, and comments! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Stiles watched through the apartment window as Derek pulled his SUV into the parking lot. The night was dark and clear, only lit up by eerily glowing yellow streetlights that were haloed in fall mist. It was a perfect Halloween night. 

Too fucking bad Stiles was just sick enough not to be able to enjoy it. 

Stiles sniffed crudely before trudging his way from the window to his couch nest, obligatory comfort blanket trailing on the floor behind him. He slumped his tired body into the couch, curling into his pillows and blankets, hating the fact that his eyelids felt heavy and dry, that his throat felt sore, that his nose was stuffed up beyond belief, and that he wasn’t able to enjoy one of his favourite holidays. 

One might think that Stiles would have started to hate Halloween, what with his life being full of monsters enough already but Halloween was like a liberation from all that. It give him and his friends to opportunity to laugh at their lives, at the boundless inaccuracies that Halloween inspired. Most of all, Halloween was _fun_ and Stiles just didn’t get much of that in life. 

Stiles’ eyes perked when he heard the jangle of keys in the door and sunk deeper into the couch. He wasn’t even sure Derek that could make him feel better about this sucktastic happenstance of sickness. 

“Please tell me Tylenol is in my immediate future?” Stiles called out over the back of the couch. He tried to be as loud as he could manage (which wasn’t much) but his was in a dire state of croak and die. 

“Yep. Just gimme me a minute to get everything put down,” Derek’s voice called back. Stiles heard his footsteps, heading towards the open plan kitchen, the rustle of paper bags, and then a suspicious sounding _thump_. 

Unable to contain his curiousity, Stiles struggled to see over the couch armrest into the kitchen but it wasn’t hard to notice the large orange pumpkin sitting on the countertop. _Huh?_ Stiles frowned but decided not to comment. The pumpkin was majorly dented in one side, no doubt one of the few left in the store, neglected because of its deformed state. Stiles felt oddly sad for the misshapen pumpkin. 

Derek was puttering about the kitchen, not even out of his leather jacket yet but Stiles could still see the bright blue of Derek’s v-neck t-shirt - the one he’d thrown at Derek this morning from his sick bed and insisted he wear to make him feel better. Mainly because _damn_ , did Derek look good in blue. 

Stiles closed his eyes and let the domestic noises of his boyfriend lull him - before long, he was settling into a half-sleep. However, Derek gently shook him awake; the coffee table had been cleared of all Stiles’ gross tissues and been replaced with a small glass of water, his blessed bottle of Tylenol, a large glass of orange juice, and a steaming bowl of soup. Though he could only pick up faint traces of the delicious smell through his blocked sinuses, it still made his mouth water and his stomach rumble in anticipation. 

“You’re so good to me,” Stiles mumbled blearily, as Derek’s arm came up around Stiles’ torso to help sit up without losing his blanket burrito. 

“You’re sick,” Derek flatly pointed out. 

“Wow, I hadn’t noticed,” Stiles was glad to find sickness could not rob of his wit. 

Derek’s stare was flatter than his voice. 

“I _meant_ -” Derek gruffly rearranged one of Stiles’ pillows before he could stop him - “that you’re sick. I’m your boyfriend. It’s kind of in the job description to take care of you.” 

“Even when you could be at Lydia’s big Halloween bash?” Stiles asked balefully, feeling a familiar ping of regret that he wasn’t able to go. Despite that, he had insisted that Lydia go ahead with her party. 

“Yes, even then,” Derek sighed. “Besides, I’m hardly what you call a _party animal._ ” 

Stiles snorted, which in hindsight was a _bad idea_ , and Derek gave him another flat stare but Stiles could see his lips twitching. Ha! Stiles was knew Derek found him funny and he didn’t know why Derek pretended otherwise. 

“So what’s with the pumpkin?” Stiles changed the subject, cautiously nodding his head towards the kitchen. He had tried to watch a movie earlier but it had done was make his head hurt. 

“Well,” Derek started as he moved to retrieve it from the kitchen. “I know you’re really upset about missing out on Halloween, so I grabbed the last pumpkin in the store and thought we could try carving it? It’s fine if you’re not up to it but I thought, I don’t know, it’s kind of stupid -” 

“No, Derek, it’s not stupid,” Stiles said thickly. “It’s really - sweet, actually. I’d love that.” 

He knew why Derek thought he might not care for it. Stiles was the kind of guy to usually go all out for Halloween - pranks, parties, costumes, trick-or-treating, the whole shebang. But it sounded… nice, to just sit in and carve a pumpkin with his boyfriend, even though he was still sick and kind of disappointed that he couldn’t go out. Nevertheless, Stiles was determined to make the most of it, especially with Derek being so thoughtful. 

Speaking of Derek, his cheeks under his beard and the tips of his ears had gone pink at Stiles’ reassurance and he marveled - still - that he was one of the only people capable of doing that to Derek Hale. That he, Stiles Stilinski, was capable of making Derek Hale feel warm, feel good, feel _happy_. 

“Eat your soup before it gets cold,” Derek muttered, before busying himself with collecting the appropriate tools for pumpkin carving. 

“You got it, tough guy,” Stiles responded, the most jovial he’d been in hours. 

The soup was hot and thick and just a touch spicy aka perfection. Stiles moaned around the first mouthful before digging in, taking sips of orange juice in between. Derek had come from the kitchen to set everything up on the coffee table and Stiles was grateful that he didn’t have to move. After he was finished, he took his Tylenol and water, then breathed (a still slightly stuffy) sigh of relief at how much better he felt. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said abruptly and Derek glanced up, eyes soft in the dim warm light of their apartment. “You really are good to me. And don’t just say it’s part of being my boyfriend, because it’s not. You could have gone to Lydia’s party, I wouldn’t have minded. I probably would have just slept. But you stayed here and listened to me whine and bought me Tylenol and a pumpkin because you know how much I love Halloween and wanted something to make me _feel_ better, not just _get_ better. It’s just… those things about you are why I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, Stiles,” Derek replied, sincerity in every line of his face, and maybe some people would see it has short compared to Stiles’ little speech but Stiles got it, got what Derek said in his actions, his gestures, his affection. Derek was by no means a master of the spoken word and that was fine. Not everybody was. Besides, Stiles could talk enough for the both of them. 

“Good, because that means we’re carving a wolf into this pumpkin,” Stiles said with determination. 

“ _Stiles_ -”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles responded in kind, in the exact same tone. “If we can’t laugh at our lives, what can we laugh at?” 

Derek stared at Stiles for a long moment before sighing the sigh of the defeat. 

“ _Fine,_ ” Derek relented. “Wolf it is.” 

“Wolf howling at the moon.” 

“Don’t push it.” 

(The pumpkin looked fucking fantastic and yes, the wolf was howling at the moon.)


End file.
